Checkmate
by Iris magic
Summary: For Starscream and Prowl, life is like a human game of chess.


Checkmate

Pairing: Prowl/Starscream

A/N: Was done for the Seven Sins challenge. Sin(s): Pride

Disclaimer: Don't own them. Hasbro does.

Not the first time we meet here, in a place far from the human cities. It has to be closer to the Autobot base, since Prowl is a ground-bound and can't cover distances as well as I can. His doorwings are purely for decoration, unlike my own perfect tools of sky worship. Then again, the whole of Prowl is nothing compared to the sheer wonder of universe that's me, Starscream.

Each time we meet we test this assumption in a proper way. Humans have a game of strategy and planning, called chess. Who would have thought they could create something as proper as this? And now we sit on a forest clearing and stare on the figures we made (mine are more perfect, I have to insist) as we choose whom to move and whom to sacrifice. A fitting game chess is. It's split like our fractions, it has clear rules which makes deception more difficult, and it's all about matching the things we are most proud of in ourselves- Prowl's tactical genius versus my brilliant intelligence.

Sometimes our time is very limited by our respective leaders (Oh, look, I put Megatron and respect in the same phrase! The Pits must've frozen over! I need to send him there to check.) and we play timed games. Sometimes we sit for hours. I wish we had vorns for each round, to truly match our capabilities.

Sometimes, Prowl wins. In those moments he allows himself to smile. Arrogant Autoscum! Sometimes it's a stalemate, much like this war has reached. I could solve it in the war, had I been the leader, but that's beside the point. And often, I gain the victory I deserve over the Autobot, who's equal to me in rank, but not a match for my superiority.

But like everything that's human, we, Cybertronians, find a way to improve. I make it difficult for him to concentrate by stretching and showing off how flawless my body is. I take it as far as to polish myself before those matches. And I can see that I'm successful when his optics leave the board for a moment to admire me. I have to admit that Prowl came with a few distraction techniques himself. He touches the figures with perfect, calculated moves, showing off his Circuit-Su training, caressing his assumption of the queen character of the black fraction (which I carved in the image of the Decepticons, with me as the king and Megatron placed second, and Prowl never seems to get it right, foolish Autobot that he is) in a way that makes me often jealous of the character. I do deserve such careful attention. After all, I'm perfect. Too bad some mechs I won't name can't get it into their processor. It is a battle of wits of how to defeat the enemy of the battle field of the board as well as outside of it. At times, Prowl's control betrays him and his doorwings shiver, showing me just how much he wants to touch the real thing.

We play the same game in real life. We meet in battlefield, we use the pieces that are the troops under our command. Mine are a bit disobedient, but at least they are not a mismatched pack of whatever-they-were-before-the-war. My troops are flawless airborn beings that embrace the sky and dance in it the dance of destruction. I once forced him to dive for shameful cover in a puddle of mud, while screaming:

"Check, mud-crawler!"

Skywarp and Soundwave's twin abominations looked at me with admiration for a week after this one. I have to admit, black and white paintjob looks terrible with mud dripping from it. That's why I'm so good at what I do, and Prowl isn't.

I'll never admit how much those games mean to me. They allowed me to show my intelligence for the first time since Skyfire perished, and then returned only to be lost to me for ever. They allow me to feel every nanogram the beauty I am. They allow me… not to feel alone. And I know that he feels the same thing. I need those encounters mean something to me, something more than a simple method of resting from our leaders, responsibilities, duties.

I won't admit it even as he stands above me with a gun in his hands and I can't get up due to an injury I've sustained.

"Checkmate, Starscream." He says.

And all I can do is smile.


End file.
